Zorren stood there in the back room of the Lonely Song, staring at the thin beam of light that slipped through the doorway and stretched across the floor. Beside him, Allan reclined in his chair and tossed back his head, letting out a great sigh. Zorren heard this and gave him a sour look as he walked over.

“Is there something you wish to say, Allan?” Zorren asked as he reached down and collected the papers.

Allan raised an eyebrow.

“Would you willingly listen?”

“You are free to speak, as you have ever been.”

Allan pursed his lips.

“This was a great waste of our time.”

Zorren tapped the papers gently on the table until they were all aligned, then slapped them down in front of Allan.

“Not entirely.”

Allan took the papers and tucked them neatly into his briefcase.

“Care to explain?”

Zorren quietly walked over to the door and peered out into the hallway.

“Quickly. We have a meeting with Julian.”

Together, they followed the hallway toward the back of the Lonely Song and stepped outside. The air was fresh and the ground was cool, having stayed hidden from the afternoon sun beneath the shade of the tavern. Only a few workers could be seen in the area; all of them were busy with their duties and seemingly unaware of the two men. The sound of passersby drifted over from the main road.

Allan walked next to Zorren and leaned in close.

“In order for your plans to work, the object must be destroyed. Without this, nothing moves forward.”

“I do not need you to remind me of that, Allan. I am well aware.”

“Then what of Lord Viemen’s request?”

Zorren thought a moment.

“Frederick will have his answer after we’ve met with Rothwell.”

Allan straightened up.

“There is no doubt Frederick would be a more suitable pawn than Rothwell.”

Zorren looked around casually as the two walked toward the front of the tavern.

“Frederick will not agree to anything less than what he has asked for,” he said in a hushed tone, “We have no way to accomplish this yet.”

“If it means getting Frederick in our grasp, killing Perry would— ”

Zorren grabbed Allan by the shoulder and hugged him close.

“Mind your tongue.”

Allan reoriented himself.

They were on the main road now, several dozen people were meandering to and fro: some were merchants, others were shoppers, and there were several men traveling north with a cart full of goods.

Together, they crossed the street and rounded the corner of a local shop. Their carriage was parked in the alley, just barely in view from the main road. The driver snapped-to immediately upon seeing Zorren and Allan approach. Half a dozen men in brown and tan street clothes appeared, each carrying a sword of a different length.

“Keep to the original formation as discussed,” Zorren ordered. He then turned to the driver. “We will be traveling to Mayor Rothwell’s mansion. Don’t take the main roads.”

The driver nodded.

“As you wish, Virtua.”

Zorren stepped up into the carriage, followed by Allan. Once inside, they shut the carriage door and drew all the curtains closed. Allan waited a few seconds before deciding it was safe to continue.

“Would it not be more prudent to give Frederick what he wants?”

Zorren stared blankly, lost in thought.

“Dividing the land between Viemen and Mannigold makes it more difficult to manage,” Allan continued. “Having Viemen combined as one entity will make the project go more smoothly. And, if we grant Frederick’s wishes, he will be forever indebted to us.”

“I don’t need Frederick’s gratitude.”

Allan rolled his eyes.

“Then what about his guaranteed cooperation?”

“I understand your point, Allan, there is no need to be so persistent.”

“Then why do you hesitate?”

Zorren folded his hands in his lap and looked towards the carriage window. Even obscured by curtains, it still seemed Zorren was gazing at something— studying it intently.

“You are talking of assassination, Allan,” Zorren said plainly. “Nasty, bloody, violent business that does not go unnoticed.” Zorren flicked his eyes toward Allan who looked away instinctively. “The world would be a different place if one could simply wave their hand and rid themselves of any obstacle. However, this is not reality.”

“Don’t patronize me, Zorren,” Allan hissed, his tone rising.

“Forgive me, Allan.” Zorren waited a few moments for Allan to breathe and calm himself before continuing. “You are correct. Having all our resources consolidated under Frederick would make things easier. But the situation is not that simple. Perry is still a Mannigold, even though he has distanced himself from them considerably. There is still a chance that they would try to reclaim the land after his death.”

“Surely there is a way for us to intervene?”

“It could be done,” he admitted. “However, it would all be contingent on whether or not we have a means to rid ourselves of Sir Perry Mannigold.”

“There are any number of men you could hire!” Allan barked. “We have half a dozen with us right now! With our resources we could hire anyone, Zorren.”

The carriage jostled back and forth as the wheels ran over an uneven stretch of road.

“Perry is no fool, Allan. Nor is he to be taken lightly.”

Allan threw himself back into the carriage seat.

“I admire your mind, Zorren, but don’t you think you are being too cautious?”

“With all due respect, Allan, your duties during the war were very specific. They served a great purpose, but they kept you isolated. There were many aspects of the battlefield that most were not privy too.”

Allan glared at Zorren as he listened.

“Your point?”

“The Magistrate worked very intimately with High King Rhoden, as well as his generals and confidants.”

“This includes Perry?”

Zorren nodded.

“Rhoden and Perry were quite close. In fact. Perry was present at nearly every war council, many of which I also attended.” Zorren paused in a moment of recollection. “He is a shrewd and tactical man. Both he and Rhoden were good friends and Rhoden trusted him on matters of great importance.”

“Shrewd men can still be killed.”

“Do you know the life expectancy for a soldier in the War of Blood and Iron?”

“I know it was not long.”

“Three weeks— if you managed to survive your first battle. The conditions were abominable. Supplies were frighteningly scarce. There was no good medicine, and the battles were fought on multiple fronts for nights on end.”

“I remember the war, Zorren. I am no child.”

“Sir Perry Mannigold fought in over forty battles. He held the southern front for nearly five years. This is no simple feat. In fact, it is quite extraordinary.”

Allan threw his hand in the air.

“So, send a dozen men!”

Zorren shook his head.

“Even that many will not be enough. He lives in the barracks with his guild; over two dozen armed men, trained by Perry himself, to say nothing of the servants and guards. If we fail the first time, he will know he is being targeted and our anonymity will be threatened.”

“What cause could Perry possibly have to suspect us?”

Zorren turned away from him. A look of concern came across his face.

“Zorren?” Allan leaned in and forced eye contact. “What are you keeping from me?”

Two stone towers rose some fifteen feet into the air, flanking either side of the road. There were several trees on the ground below, and several more that dotted the compound. High in the canopy of a blooming maple, birds fluttered from branch to branch. Hanging like a wraith among the leaves, a black crow hopped a few paces along a low branch before leaping off and floating to the ground. The crow picked at the soft earth and hopped toward the guardsman who was sitting on a bench. Annoyed, the guard stood to shoo away the crow, but stopped when he caught sight of a carriage approaching. He placed a hand on his belt and walked over to the threshold of the gate. Once fully in view, the guard raised his hand, and the driver brought the carriage to a halt.

“What business do you have with Mayor Rothwell?”

The driver withdrew a piece of fine leather from his breast pocket— it was gilded with the crest of the Omnirian Magistrate.

“We are here on behalf of the Royal Omnirian Magistrate. I am transporting delegates who have business with Mayor Rothwell.”

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The guardsman saw the crest and immediately bowed his head.

“Welcome.” He stood up and gestured toward a large brick building several yards up the hill. “I will accompany you there.”

Together, they traveled along the cobblestone path leading to Rothwell’s mansion. Once at the front entrance, the carriage driver jumped down and ran to the side of the carriage. He opened the door and bowed. Zorren exited first, followed by Allan who slowly made his way down the carriage step. Allan landed firmly on the ground and let out a grunt.

“Cobbled stone?” He tapped the ground with his boot heel. “How self-indulgent.”

Zorren ignored the comment and headed up the steps.

“An unnecessary expense,” Allan muttered to himself.

The servants greeted the two men as they entered the office. Zorren stepped through the doorway and onto a finely embroidered rug that stretched the length of the foyer. The space inside was not as large as Lord Viemen’s manor, but it was similarly embellished: crowded with fine wooden furniture, ceramics, and hanging fixtures.

“Shall I take you to Mayor Rothwell’s private office, milord?” one of the men asked.

Zorren nodded.

The servant led them up an old wooden staircase that creaked with every shift in weight. It was covered in a green and gold rug that matched with the ornamentation which hung from the railings.

When they reached the door to Rothwell’s private office, the servant knocked on the door a few times and called into the room.

“Lord Mayor?”

Allan rolled his eyes; then, a voice called back.

“What is it!?”

“Lord Mayor, there are two men from the Magistrate who have come to speak with you.”

“Magistrate!? There are no appointments today!”

The servant swallowed nervously.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Mayor. But while it is true that there are no appointments today—”

“Send them away you twit!”

“Julian,” Zorren called loudly from the hallway.

From inside the room there came a loud scraping of a chair across the wooden floor, then the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps. Finally, the door swung open, and Mayor Rothwell stood there with wide eyes.

“Zorren! Allan! Welcome!” Julian announced, panting between words. He turned violently toward the servant. “Why didn’t you tell me we had such distinguished company?” Julian asked through a fake smile and gritted teeth.

“Forgive us, Julian,” Zorren began, “We gave no warning to your staff.”

Julian pushed the servant out of the way and stepped aside to clear a path for the two men.

“Never mind all that. Please, come in. Have a seat wherever you like.”

Allan plopped himself down in the largest and most comfortable looking armchair he could find. Zorren, meanwhile, walked slowly to the middle of the room and stood there, waiting patiently.

“Lord Mayor, I am sorry, I—”

Julian grabbed the door handle, ignoring the servant, and shut the door before the man could finish his apology. He then spun around to face both Zorren and Allan and clapped his hands together.

“Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Informal business, Julian,” Allan announced, nonchalantly. “How fares Viemen under your stewardship?”

Julian chuckled nervously to himself.

“Viemen is doing quite well. In fact, we’ve recently begun a renovation project to repair the roadways.”

“Hmm.” Allan tapped his chin. “Is that so? We came from the northern road, and I do not recall seeing any builders or masons.”

“We…are not at the building stage yet. We have only recently settled our plans, though we have begun recruiting builders.”

“If I recall,” Zorren added, “The submission for roadwork was placed over a year ago. Was it not?”

Julian winced.

“You are correct.”

“Yet you are just now laying plans, instead of stone?”

“It is proving rather difficult to come by laborers in this area. There are few who will take the work.”

“I see,” Zorren responded as he placed his hands behind his back.

“Surely a town with land as profitable as Viemen would have no issue attracting laborers?” Allan asked as he sat back in the chair.

Julian bit his tongue.

“Indeed.”

The air in the office was heavy.

Julian flicked his eyes between the two men, fearful of further questioning; but they pressured him no further. He then made his way across the room and sat back down in the large chair which sat behind his writing desk.

“I hope your journey south was comfortable?” he offered.

“Oh, yes,” Allan replied. “Despite the old roads.”

Julian’s eye twitched.

“Are you only here for a short while or shall I find accommodations for you?”

Zorren spoke this time.

“We will be leaving tonight once our business is concluded. We have already spoken with Lord Viemen this morning,” he said, turning to face Julian.

The blood drained from Julian’s face. He cleared his throat and straightened himself.

“I am glad that you were able to accomplish so much during such a short excursion.”

“How are the borders, Julian? No more raids?” Allan called out from behind Zorren. Zorren turned politely toward Allan, blocking Julian’s view of him. Allan raised his eyebrow at Zorren. In response, Zorren shook his head slightly before sitting down.

“There have been no raids for over seven months,” Julian said, folding his arms in his lap. “Our northern and southern gates are well guarded.”

“I see…”

Allan reached down into his briefcase and began flipping through his papers; Julian watched him with concern. Finally, Allan pulled out the page he was looking for and held it out in front of him.

“I wonder then, why the mercantile district has been losing money recently?”

Julian began to think of an answer, but Allan gave him no time.

“We have reviewed the budgets with Lord Viemen who has been doing considerably well. The market records from this past year alone are quite troubling.”

“There…has been a decrease in the influx of merchants, but overall—”

“You understand your position, yes?” Allan asked.

Julian choked on his words.

“I do.”

“Your installment was begun out of necessity, but only as a consequence of war. A temporary action to improve efficiency and resource management during a troubling time for our nation. That decision—”

“Was a royal appointment,” Julian cut in.

The two men stared intently at each other, observing, gleaning the strength of their respective positions.

Allan relaxed himself in the chair.

“Indeed.”

“We have no intention to interfere with you,” Zorren said. “Provided you are able to continue your necessary duties.”

Julian narrowed his eyes.

“And what duties would you be referring to?”

“The details of your appointment carried within them certain stipulations. Your appointment as Mayor in place of Kendrith was for the express purpose of achieving certain ends. Ends that benefited Omnirius.”

“And I performed my duties,” Julian spat. He then raised his arms. “Look around you. Viemen is still standing. The only town on the southern front to remain after the war.”

“We do not deny your services. But the conditions of your contract are as they have been written. The fact remains, you were not elected by formal process.”

“I was appointed by the High King.”

“There is no more king,” Zorren said. “Not currently. What we do have is a court. A court with the authority to handle matters of importance to which a High King would normally attend.”

Julian slammed his hands on the table.

“I have done nothing criminal!”

Zorren tried to hide the smile that threatened to split his lips.

“Certainly not. However, we are no better than animals if we do not follow the rules that we have set forth for ourselves. If you have value to Omnirius, then you will be fulfilling the requirements of your contract. I have no problem with this.”

Julian gritted his teeth so hard a vein was visible on the side of his head. He knew he was in no position to argue. His only choice was to submit.

“If it is the support of East Viemen that you wish for, you already have it. Though, I cannot speak for the others.”

Zorren tilted his head out of curiosity.

Julian tried to leverage his hand.

“Lord Viemen is not known for his benevolence,” he continued. “I would remind you that it was his economic inexperience that led, in part, to my appointment. And as for Sir Perry Mannigold… he cares little for economics. His land is relatively profitable and produces good crops, but he contributes little overall.” Julian tapped the desk with his index finger. “I have planned for far more than road repair.”

“Oh?” Allan leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. “Please elaborate.”

Zorren nodded. He too was interested in seeing exactly what Julian was planning.

At this, Julian adjusted his collar.

“Are you aware of the Iron Titans?”

Allan and Zorren shared a glance.

“We are not…” Zorren answered.

Julian smiled to himself, then rose from the chair and continued speaking.

“Roughly six months ago, I was made aware of a group of individuals who had come to Viemen from afar. They were trained military men from the west, led by a man named Julius.”

“Bandits?” Allan asked.

“That was my suspicion at first. However, they have proved to be much more than rogues. Julius and his group have been instrumental in handling matters of military importance. They would work for housing, food, and if necessary, coin. They are to thank, in large part, for the stability of Viemen’s borders.”

“You’ve hired a mercenary army,” Zorren said. “I fail to see the novelty.”

Julian smiled.

“I have sponsored a new Guild.”

Allan sat up.

“A what!?”

“Sir Perry, it would seem, is not the only one keen on gathering resources and influence to himself under the moniker of ‘Guild’.”

Zorren relaxed in the armchair and folded his hands in his lap.

“And what do you hope to gain by supporting these Iron Titans?”

“Many of the towns and outposts south of Viemen were either destroyed during the war or abandoned thereafter. Bandits have since settled the abandoned outposts and have made the area and its resources unrecoverable.” Julian walked over to a bookshelf and ran his finger along the edge. “Julius and his men have been assisting me in weeding out these unwelcome tenants and recovering anything of value that may have been left behind.”

“And how successful have these missions been?” Allan asked, tapping his thigh.

“Very,” Julian said proudly. “In fact, the Iron Titans should be returning shortly from their recent excursion. As of now, they have managed to reclaim former territory just north of Svolden.”

“Svolden!” Allan said with widening eyes.

“I am impressed,” Zorren admitted. “Omnirius has not had control that far south since before the start of the war. This guild must be very skilled.”

Julian turned his back to them for a moment to hide his excitement.

“Yes, it is quite advantageous,” he said, turning back to face the two men. “With the might of the Iron Titans, we can take back the southern roads. Once we have them, we can re-open our trade routes in the southwest as far as Auborn.”

Zorren’s smile faded into a frown.

“I see. You would like to further develop the south?”

Julian nodded.

“The bulk of Omnirian trade runs north and benefits only Eadenfros and her surroundings. The concentration of wealth is overwhelmingly in the north.”

The room became silent.

Julian waited for an answer. From his position, he had given away all the truth that he could part with.

Allan continued tapping his thigh; an old habit of his that seemed to help him think through difficult problems. Meanwhile, Zorren stared out the window. While his mind raced back and forth, his sight drifted toward the trees that stood beyond the glass. Calmed by the swaying of the branches, he mindlessly followed the nightingales as they hopped about. Zorren thought hard as he traced their movements; until he stopped suddenly, caught by the gaze of a black crow seated in the treetop. He watched it curiously— its deep black eyes studying him perhaps even more than he studied it.

Suddenly, the room filled with the sound of the bell tower. At that same moment, a flurry of wings erupted from the canopy. Dozens of birds assembled into a group and flew off into the sky: all except for the black crow. It remained in the same spot— unflinching and unmoving.

“Zorren?” Allan called to him.

Zorren did not move.

“Zorren. Our time is up.”

In one swift motion, the crow spread its wings and took off from the tree. Zorren blinked away its image and turned to Julian.

“Allan is correct. Unfortunately, our schedule will not permit us to linger.”

“I understand,” Julian said.

Allan and Zorren stood and gathered themselves.

“Julian…” Zorren called to him. “We expect good things.”

Julian nodded back at them.

“I will not disappoint you.”

With that, Zorren and Allan left the room, while the servant closed the door behind them.

Julian remained there alone and in silence; he stared intently at the spot where they had been, his fists shaking with rage.